‘So you don’t think this embassy is here to draw us into a trap?’
‘Treachery is possible, but unlikely,’ said Gerard.
The king stopped his pacing and studied me, his grey eyes shrewd and probing.
‘If I had more dreams to tell you, young man, perhaps they would reveal what answer I should give these Saracens.’ He treated me to a sour smile. ‘Or should I try taking one of those potions which produce strange and peculiar visions.’
‘Only a dream that comes naturally to the sleeper can possess meaning. The author of the dream book is clear on that,’ I replied meekly.
‘But is it not also true that a person often dreams of people and places known from real life?’
‘That is the case,’ I agreed.
‘You yourself dream.’ It was more a statement than a question.
‘I do, my lord.’
The king gave a short, mirthless laugh.
‘So, if I cannot force myself to have a dream that will reveal the true intentions of these Saracens, I can do the next best thing.’
My heart sank as I realized what he was about to say.
‘I can place a dreamer among them, someone to get to know them so well that they appear in his dreams, and he will learn what they intend.’ He chuckled softly. ‘You might say that I will have an insight into their minds as well as into the future.’ The king shouted for an attendant, and a man appeared instantly at the door. ‘Escort this young man to the chancery. I am attaching him to the mission that returns with the Saracens. They leave in two days’ time.’ Carolus looked down at me from his great height, his face a mask of royal authority. ‘Speak with Alcuin. Tell him why you are going to Hispania. He will give more detailed instructions.’
I bowed and began to walk towards the door.
‘And be sure to take your crippled servant with you,’ the king added. ‘He may overhear some useful information. I’ll tell Bertha you may be absent for some time.’
I left the chamber, stunned. The king must have spies and informants everywhere. It was reasonable to suppose that Gerard had told him that Osric was a Saracen by origin, but I wondered how often the king had stood at the window looking down at my comings and goings to his daughter’s chamber.
Alcuin greeted me without enthusiasm when I tracked him down in the chancery. He was deep in conversation with two clerks from the office of records. They were discussing the correct wording for a charter document, and I had to wait until they had finished and moved away before I told him what the king intended for me.
‘So that’s why you asked about the meaning of Oneirokritikon,’ the priest said. ‘If I’d known, I’d not have told you.’
‘I thought it would be a leech book, not a book of dreams,’ I said.
‘The Church does not approve of such writings.’
‘I’m sure that the Oneirokritikon is harmless.’
Alcuin arched his brows in disbelief.
‘Dreams are the raw material of necromancy and superstition. Often the Devil works through them.’
‘Yet an angel of the Lord used a dream to tell Joseph the husband of Mary that her unborn child was conceived by the Holy Spirit,’ I objected.
He drew a sharp breath of displeasure and stepped past me.
‘If you will follow me, I will do my best to carry out the king’s instructions.’
He led me to where the great map of tiles was still laid out on the trestle table. Instinctively I looked towards the range of mountains where I had pricked my finger. Today there was no glint of light.
Alcuin’s sandals clacked softly as he made his way round to reach over the map and point to a spot on the coast of Hispania.
‘The leader of the embassy, Suleyman al Arabi, governs this region centred on the two cities of Barcelona and Girona. He is accompanied by the governors of Zaragoza and Huesca. All three are at war with their overlord, the Emir of Cordoba. His name is Abdurahman.’ Alcuin hitched back the sleeve of his gown. ‘They are asking Carolus to bring an army into Hispania to aid them. In return they promise to place their lands under his protection. Note how their lands lie just beyond this mountain range which presently forms our border with Hispania.’
He brushed his hand across the tiles and I half expected him to flinch and draw back, his finger bleeding. But nothing happened.
‘The allegiance of these Saracens would be immensely valuable,’ Alcuin continued. ‘It would provide Frankia with a broad march, a protective frontier zone, on the far side of the mountain range.’ He stepped back from the map, allowed his sleeve to fall, and thrust both hands into the sleeves. There were cold draughts in the chancery. ‘Equally, this might be a trap. The Saracens may be seeking to lure our army across the mountains so that they can fall on our troops and slaughter them. They consider us to be infidels, enemies ripe for destruction.’
He gazed for a moment at the map, shoulders sagging slightly as if imagining the dreadful consequences. I recalled how I had once pointed out the danger of over-extending the kingdom.
With a slight shake of his head, Alcuin brought his attention back to the present.
‘If the king thinks he can discover the intentions of the Saracens through your dreams, so be it. But I believe he is badly mistaken.’ Suddenly he was briskly efficient. ‘If we are to send an army across those mountains and into Hispania, we require intelligence on the conditions of the road, where to obtain water and pitch camp, the danger points where we might be ambushed, and so forth. All this you can observe as you travel with the Saracens.’
‘The king has already made a spy of me,’ I said gloomily.
‘So when you are not dreaming, keep your eyes open.’
‘And what do I do with this information when I have it?’ I asked.
‘You write it down and include it with the official reports that our two ambassadors will be sending back to us here in the chancery whenever possible.’
‘And if I am discovered or my despatch is intercepted?’ There was no need for me to add that such a discovery would discredit the embassy in the eyes of their hosts and probably lead to my arrest. I had no idea how the Saracens dealt with spies they caught, but it was unlikely to be a pleasant experience.
A hint of a smile appeared on Alcuin’s face.
‘Let me give you something.’ He led me to a small side room which had the appearance of being his personal office. One wall was lined with shelves holding neatly folded vestments, writing supplies of pumice, paper, quills and an ink horn. He took a small box down from an upper shelf.
‘You can use this,’ he said. From the box he took out a flat wooden disc about six inches in diameter.
‘Caesar’s Wheel,’ he said. The disc had an inner and outer ring. Both were marked with letters of the alphabet. Alcuin rotated the outer ring so that the letters were displaced against one another.
I grasped the principle.
‘I use the wheel to code my report. If I want to write an A, for example, and the A lies opposite the letter F, that is what I write.’
He gave a nod of approval.
‘Correct. It won’t fool an intelligent observer, but someone who scarcely knows how to read would be puzzled, especially if they are more accustomed to the Saracen way of writing.’
It occurred to me that anyone who could read both Saracen and Western script would be no fool, but I said nothing.
Alcuin returned the device to its box.
‘To make matters a little more challenging for anyone who tries to decipher your code, we will vary the offset. Taking the letter A on the outer ring as your reference, I suggest you offset it differently at the start of each sentence you write, according to a sequence based on a single word.’
‘What is this key word?’ I asked.
‘Something you can easily remember.’ There was a hint of a twinkle in his eye. ‘Why not Oneirokritikon? That should keep them guessing.’
He was about to hand me the box when I asked, ‘Have the ambassadors been told that I will be acting as a spy?’